


Feral

by melofttroll



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feral Derek, Fluff, Future Fic, Get Together, Hales never returned to Beacon Hills, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Laura Lives, M/M, Mates, Post-Canon, Scenting, Scott is still Alpha, Wolfsbane, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melofttroll/pseuds/melofttroll
Summary: Scott’s yelling now as the Jeep comes to a halt, and Stiles ignores him as he clambers from the seat.  The skid turned the Jeep completely around, and his headlights are pointed at something that is decidedlynotdog-ish, or bear-ish, but very, very human.And by the shuddering breaths coming from the man’s chest, very much alive.Feral!Derek, Sterek AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick couple of notes here.
> 
> 1- this fic is all-but finished. It gave me something to do on the world's most boring trip for my partner's conference. Hotel, booze, and fanfic has been my reality for days. I'll be posting the rest in the next day or so.
> 
> 2- The important things to note in this AU are that 1- Peter still bit Scott, but Peter's alpha powers came from killing someone other than Laura. Laura Lives 2kforever. Most, if not all of the events of Teen Wolf took place as canon except anything involving Derek. So it's AU but not entirely. Also when Peter was killed the first time, he stayed dead.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Some mild injury and mentions of possible violence.

“…there’s nothing that can stop you…from becoming popu-ler. Lar,” Stiles croons, swaying in his seat, hands hitting the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song. “Laaa laaaaaa, laa laa laa…”

The song abruptly goes silent, then his ringtone ruins the entire mood of the car. With a sigh, Stiles taps the screen with the tip of his finger. “What, Scott. I was having a moment with the Wicked soundtrack.”

“Then I’m saving anyone who might actually be able to hear you, and they should all thank me and send me gift baskets,” Scott says with a huff.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “What do you want, dude?”

“Your dad texted and said that he thinks he actually left the key in the light instead of the planter, so he wants you to check there first instead of freaking out and bailing on the cabin to go to a hotel.”

Stiles grimaces. “I’m not going to bail on it, but I also don’t think I need to spend two weeks there before he sells it.” Stiles doesn’t think he’s wrong, but apparently his dad was expecting more than an apathetic, “whatever, man,” when he told Stiles he was selling their family cabin since no one had used it in over five years. “I’m not like…attached. Otherwise I actually would have gone out there more than once in half a decade. _And_ I wouldn’t be so miserable if you weren’t in fucking London, asshole.”

“Yeah, damn me and my horrible, Stiles-neglecting adult responsibilities.”

“Your job is stupid,” Stiles pouts.

“Your job is literally portable and fits in a laptop bag,” Scott argues back. “And you know I’d have gone if I was actually going to be there, okay?”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something probably snarky, maybe nice because he knows Scott is telling the truth. But he doesn’t get the chance because he goes around a bend in the road and there’s a _thing_ lying in the middle of it. At first glance it looks like a gangly animal, but Stiles doesn’t have time to assess the situation because he’s swerving and screaming at the top of his lungs, and he feels his jeep skid sideways and he feels the back wheels hit part of whatever the animal was.

Above his own screeching, he hears a high-pitches whine and through the shock he thinks, _oh fuck_ , because it was clearly alive and god…

He is so not prepared to be responsible for the death of a living creature. When he was sixteen and just had his license, he hit a pigeon and cried for six days. This is like a dog-bear-wolf thing and yeah. His conscience can’t take something like that.

Scott’s yelling now as the Jeep comes to a halt, and Stiles ignores him as he clambers from the seat. The skid turned the Jeep completely around, and his headlights are pointed at something that is decidedly _not_ dog-ish, or bear-ish, but very, very human.

And by the shuddering breaths coming from the man’s chest, very much alive.

“Oh my god.”

Clearly it’s a shifter, something Stiles wouldn’t know about if he wasn’t from Beacon Hills, the worst most supernatural place on the goddamn planet since the Hellmouth doesn’t actually exist. Then again, he was possibly hallucinating that first time he saw it, but he was damn sure it had a lot of fur. And claws.

“Uh.” Stiles backs up toward the door of the Jeep where Scott is still yelling through the speakerphone. “Dude. I think I hit a shifter with my car.”

“What?!” Scott shouts.

“Dude, I didn’t do it on fucking purpose,” Stiles bites out. “It's beta-shifted, and lying in the middle of the road. I tried to swerve but I hit part of it and now I can see it’s definitely a dude. What do I do?” he hisses.

“Is he alive?” Scott asks.

“He’s breathing but like…super unconscious,” Stiles says.

Scott huffs out a heavy sigh, then says, “Do you have mountain ash in your car?”

Stiles just scoffs at him because he learned his lesson about being an unprepared human years and years ago. “What the fuck do you think?”

Scott hums the annoying way he does when he’s thinking up a really dumbass plan. Then he says, “Get him off the road if you can, and get him to the cabin. Put mountain ash on the windows and door until he wakes up. I haven’t heard anything about Omegas in the area, and Morell had that spell cast so someone would have texted already.”

“How many supes are in town that haven’t made contact with you?” Stiles demands as he reaches for his phone, then walks to the back of the Jeep for the old picnic blanket he’s kept there since that one, spectacularly failed picnic date with Lydia six years ago during Senior Ditch Day. It’s kind of nasty and covered in all kinds of whatever from all the shit he’s thrown back there over the years, but at least it means the guy won’t bleed on his seats.

Assuming he doesn’t wake up and maul Stiles. 

Stiles reaches for his taser to be on the safe side, shoving it into his back pocket for easy access.

“There are sixteen,” Scott says eventually, probably looking at his list. “One arrived last night, so it’s possibly our guy. Morell hadn’t made contact yet, but she said the spell listed him as non-threat.”

That’s only slightly more comforting than hearing this guy is a threat.

Bonus for Stiles, he thinks as he moves closer, the guy still isn’t moving, but he’s still breathing so…no murder on his hands or anything.

“You know dude,” Stiles says, shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tries to heft this guy up into his arms. He grunts loudly, but manages to half drag the guy toward the Jeep. “I was supposed to have James over.”

Scott groans. “You hate that guy. He’s a dickhead, Stiles.”

“Yes, but he gives good head. To my dick,” Stiles says. “And he’s actually been trying. Kind of. A little. Whatever.” Stiles huffs and puffs, and thanks every single rep he’s ever done which allows him to somehow heave this guy onto the back floor of the Jeep. It’s an awkward as hell fit and if the guy wakes up he’s going to be _so_ pissed and Stiles really might die.

But he’s a good Samaritan or whatever, and he can at least patch the guy up and give him a hot meal and stiff drink before he’s all healed up and back on his way.

“You got him?” Scott demands.

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, dude.” He drags a hand, now filthy with dirt and pavement and this dude’s blood, through his hair and then proceeds to violently hate _everything in the world_ for a few minutes. “He’s in the Jeep now.”

“Okay. Just…do as I say, and I’m going to call Marion and have her send someone over. I’ll text you details, okay?”

Stiles sighs. “Yeah man. FYI this does not fucking bode well for this trip that I did not want to take in the first damn place. Just…know that.”

“I know that,” Scott says softly. “Call me if something happens.”

“Dead men can’t use iPhones, Scotty. I think you already know this.” Stiles hangs up on him, and puts the phone back in the holder, and starts almost violently as Kristen Chenoweth’s voice begins to croon again in her impossibly gorgeous soprano. 

Stiles sighs and glances behind him to see an awkwardly placed, naked knee poking up through torn jeans from where the blanket has fallen. “I hope you like Broadway Musicals, dude, because that’s my entire playlist.”

The song shifts on the shuffle, and lands on Suddenly Seymour and Stiles lets himself pause to absorb what the fuck just happened. Then he puts the Jeep into drive, and finished the rest of the trip on prayer and a literal adrenaline rush.

_ _ _ 

Getting the guy in the cabin is significantly harder without the sort of adrenaline rush that allows parents to pick up dressers and cars and shit that have fallen on their babies—though Stiles is a little dubious the last one has actually happened anywhere. But he does manage it, and the guy is still boneless, heavy as hell, and completely unconscious.

The first floor guest room is probably not the best place to stick an injured shifter, but there’s no way in hell he’s making it up the stairs. He lines the opening of the door with mountain ash, then runs outside to line the windows and feels the little spark of magic take effect which means that it’s worked.

Out of breath, desperate for a long shower and a long night’s sleep—neither of which he can foresee anytime in the future—he instead hauls his groceries inside, and doesn’t even bother to check how old the beer is in the fridge before he grabs one, cracks the top on the counter, and downs half.

He calls it a win when the beer doesn’t taste weird or immediately kill him. Grabbing his phone, he saunters over to the couch, flops down, and waits for a text.

_ _ _ 

The text comes at one am, about ten minutes after Stiles woke to the sound of growling and scratching, and punching as the shifter has apparently woken from his coma-thing and was now trying to escape. Stiles kind of wants to go over there and attempt to explain what’s going on, but before he can get the balls to do it, his phone buzzes.

It’s Kira, and she does _not_ have good news. **We just got word from Chris that rogue hunters have come after a couple of envoys from three packs who were in town waiting to talk to Scott. One of the wolves is dead, one is injured but it looks like he’s going to make it, and the third one is probably your guy. Looks like they were using some sort of wolfsbane to keep them feral in order not to break code when they killed them. It will wear off, but it’ll take a few days. I’m still trying to get ID on the guy you’ve got. Just be careful okay? I’ll be in touch.**

Stiles sighs and decides his life officially sucks ass. He needs to make sure this guy isn’t just pissed off, and isn’t starving or bleeding out. The mountain ash seems to be holding up in spite of the drywall laying on the floor when Stiles walks toward the guest room. His dad is not going to love that, but this is what his dad gets for making him come stay here.

He hovers against the wall across from the entrance of the room, and at first he just sees pitch black. Then, screaming about as loud as he did in the car, he tries to press himself further as the guy is awake, partially shifted with mutton chops and claws, and blue, glowing eyes. His hands spread out over the barrier, and his nostrils are flaring. Through the tattered t-shirt, he can see a huge, gaping wound on his shoulder, and yellow lines running from it which yeah, cannot be good.

“Uh. Hey. So, I’m Stiles, and I think you’re the missing wolf the hunters were after so…”

His words are cut off by a loud roar.

“Yeah, I get you don’t exactly have words now, m’dude, but that’s why I can’t let you out, and I hope you’re understanding at least part of this. I’m a friend. I swear. Uh…you probably are aware of Scott’s scent, right, since you were sent to meet him. So…” Stiles creeps closer and hovers just outside of the barrier, and holds out a hand like he would when meeting a dog.

The guy paces a little, and sniffs a few times, then backs up into the dark. Stiles can hear him, like he’s huffing with pain—which he probably is if he’s got wolfsbane in his skin. But Stiles isn’t stupid enough to go into the room just yet. So he backs up and sends a text off to Kira, begging for help.

_This dude has wolfsbane still in him, and I can’t get close enough to get it out. What do I do? And who the hell even is he?_

He doesn’t expect an immediate answer, and doesn’t get one. He walks to the kitchen and decides fuck everything, and chops up some of the chicken breasts he bought. He does another pan of veggies which this guy probably won’t want in this state, but he puts the lion’s share—or wolf’s share, really—into a bowl when it’s done, and creeps back to the door.

The guy is still hunkered down in the dark, the only visible thing about him is the eyes. Stiles uses the edge of his foot to push the bowl slowly toward the barrier, and manages to get it over the line and away before the wolf can grab it.

Stiles figures the guy must be starved, but he only creeps a little closer and sniffs.

“I swear, it’s not poison. Just food. I asked my friend if she can help me deal with your arm, but even if we can get all that shit out, it’s going to be a while before you recover. So food is probably best, you know?”

The guy just glowers at him, baring his teeth.

Stiles rubs at his forehead as he sinks to the ground with his back to the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest. They sit there and stare at each other.

He jumps about two feet in the air, and the wolf growls loudly when Stiles’ phone begins to vibrate, and he scrambles to answer it. “Kira? Jesus, tell me you have…”

“Hello Stiles.” It’s not Kira, but her mom.

Stiles gulps nervously, always nervous when talking to a 900 plus year old Kitsune. “Uh, heyyyy miss Yukimura, how are things?”

“I hear you have a feral wolf problem?” she says patiently.

Stiles sighs. “Seems like it. I cooked for him, but he’s not eating. I didn’t consider he might want something more uh…raw.”

“If my investigation of this wolfsbane is correct, then he probably won’t be hungry at all. The Saunders pack said they had to dig what looked like a badly fashioned tranq dart out of their wolf before he started healing. Once you can get that out, he should start to relax.”

“Yeah, except how do I get close enough to take the dart out without him tearing me to shreds?” Stiles wonders quietly, staring back at the wolf who is watching him, head cocked to the side. “I might be able to like…get through to him if I had any idea who this guy is.”

“Why not send me a picture and I’ll see what I can do, okay? And just do your best. Feral wolves aren’t all killers, Stiles.”

“I know that,” he says from behind a sigh. He hangs up, manages to get a half-assed picture of the guy, but his eyes are flaring in the shot so the glare covers part of his face. It’s the best he can do, though. He sends it off, then heads for the hallway pantry. He can hear the wolf growling low and distressed—he’s probably in pain, which doesn’t make Stiles feel very good about this. Scott’s worked as a vet long enough for Stiles to know that injured animals lash out.

He really, really doesn’t want to die here trying to save this guy. 

Though he can take comfort in knowing if he does get bit, it won’t turn him.

He manages to dig out the first-aid kit and a tool kit which has a pair of pliers. The very idea of digging that shit into this guy’s skin is the worst, but he also can’t just let this guy lay there and suffer. He’s hoping that soothing tones and soft movements will keep the guy from flipping out.

Walking back to the room, Stiles crouches in front of the door. The wolf rushes him, teeth bared, growling, but he doesn’t look as murder-y as he did when he first woke up. Stiles licks his lips, then take a breath and holds out his hand for the guy to sniff.

“Look man, I don’t want to leave you in here anymore than you want to be in there. But you’re all…grr,” he bares his teeth and makes a clawed hand. “I can’t risk you going all claw-happy on me, and I don’t want you running out of here before you’re fixed up. So…can I just…”

He shows the wolf the pliers, and then points at the wolf’s arm which is just kind of nasty and mangled.

The wolf sniffs, then whines in the back of his throat, and attempts to lick the wound.

“Gross,” Stiles says. “Please don’t do that. Just…can I please…” He holds out his hand, then takes a breath, and crosses over the ash line.

The wolf flinches, rears back with a slight growl, but doesn’t seem eager to chomp down. He bares his teeth again, but then noses along Stiles’ wrist. Then licks him. Then sits back.

Stiles lets out a puff of air, and decides to be a dumbass—and maybe a little brave—and he crosses the line. The wolf skitters back a little when Stiles reaches for him, but doesn’t go too far, and looks more scared than angry. Stiles feels a surge of guilt for assuming the worst, though it’s not like he’s ever going to forget Scott’s feral first moon where Stiles really was almost a werewolf chew-toy.

“Hey, it’s okay. I need to get that thing out of your arm, and it’s going to hurt but I swear it’ll make everything start to feel better. Please,” he says plaintively. He holds out his hand, holds his breath a little, and waits.

After what feels like just shy of forever, the wolf nudges forward an inch. Then two. Then eventually his cheek is pressed against Stiles’ palm. There’s enough wolf fur sprouted that it’s soft in his fingers, and Stiles pets him just a little bit before reaching for his arm. The wolf pulls back with a snarl, but Stiles persists, and scritches along his scalp.

He gently reaches for the wolf’s arm, and this time, the wolf lets him. Stiles bites his lip, then reaches for the pliers. “This is going to hurt, okay? I don’t know if you can understand me, but if any part of your brain gets it, please please understand that I’m not trying to hurt you, and don’t you know…go fangy.”

The wolf huffs, and Stiles decides to just go for it. He jams the pliers into the wound, and the wolf roars and pulls back, but Stiles somehow manages to hold on, and dig deeper, and eventually he feels the tip hit something hard. He wrenches them open, grips it, and yanks.

He flies back with the force of it, and lands on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The wolf is backed up against the wall, cradling his arm, but the blue glow in his eyes, Stiles swears, has actually started to dim a little.

“I’m so sorry. God.” Stiles stands, and he sees the wound already healing. The wolf seems to notice too, and huffs like maybe he’s letting Stiles know it’s okay. “I’m going to get you water, and uh…hopefully as that shit leaves your system, you can eat a little.”

He steps over the ash line and ignores the whine and hurries to the kitchen. His hands are shaking as he grabs a water bottle, and he checks his phone but no one’s gotten back to him yet. With a sigh, he returns and finds the wolf sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed with his eyes closed. He twitches when Stiles crosses the line again, but doesn’t move, even when Stiles sits near him and nudges his knee.

“You really need to have water, man.” He cracks the top since it might be difficult with claws, then he sets it next to the guy. After about ten minutes, Stiles sighs and pushes to his feet. “I gotta keep you in here until you have some semblance of humanity and I figure out who you are. Because there are still hunters out there, and I don’t want you running off and getting murdered.”

He thinks maybe he should mention that the Alpha of the area is his best friend, but he’s not sure how feral beta is going to react to human friend of Alpha so…

“Use the bed if you want. It’s more comfortable than the floor.” Stiles stands and moves toward the door, but before he can get there, the wolf is up and grabbing him. “Watch the goods!” Stiles cries out of reflex, as he’s manhandled until suddenly his hoodie is up over his head, and the wolf is backing away with it, clutched to his chest.

Which like…weird.

But also whatever.

There are worse things the guy could have done.

He crosses the line and looks back at him once, then hurries up the stairs to his own room, to get what will probably be the worst night of sleep he’s had in years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on the final bit today so it should all be posted by this evening.

Stiles wakes to his phone ringing, and he gropes from under his pillow nest for it. Without bothering to look, he mashes at the screen until it answers, and grumbles, “Hello,” as loud as he can muster.

“Stiles.” It’s Noshiko.”

Stiles clears his throat. “Uh. Yeah. Yes, hi. Morning.”

She laughs quietly. “I woke you.”

“It’s fine, I figured I’d probably need to check on wolf-man and make sure he didn’t find some way to break out.”

“That’s why I was calling,” she says softly. “We got an ID on him.”

Stiles sits up then, suddenly wide awake. “Oh. That’s…okay. Good. That’s good.”

“His name is Derek Hale,” she says, then goes quiet because she must know Stiles needs a moment to process. Because Stiles has met a Hale before. He participated in the murder of the rogue, rabid Alpha that was once Peter Hale. A beta who had been burned alive and left in long-term care after he couldn’t recover from his wounds. Little did anyone know that Peter had snuck out at night, killed the Alpha of the nearby Gheiler pack, then used that newfound power to exact revenge on the hunters who burned him alive.

That revenge, however, included biting both Scott and Lydia, then later Jackson. It included putting everyone in mortal danger, nearly murdering Stiles more than once, and unleashing a fucking kanima on the two who nearly destroyed everything Stiles loved.

If it wasn’t for the timely arrival of the Ito pack, and Satomi’s strong alliances, things would have been a lot worse. Things were okay—now, anyway. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a rush of fear every time he heard the surname Hale.

“Uh.”

“He and two of his sisters were the only survivors from the fire,” Noshiko says, drawing Stiles out of his thoughts. “Apparently Laura—the Hale Alpha—sent Derek here to meet with Scott regarding the preserve land. The Hales still own it, and they’ve occupied this territory for generations. Deaton thinks rogue hunters got word of one of the Hales returning, and wanted to finish Kate and Gerard’s plans.”

And okay, the name Hale might freak Stiles out, but nothing filled him with terror like the names Kate and Gerard Argent. Even dead, they still haunted him.

“Uh. Well, that’s fucking fantastic.” Stiles rubs at the back of his neck. “I got the dart out so he should be returning to himself soon, but right now I still have him locked behind a line of mountain ash.” And then Stiles realized what a special kind of torture that must be for him. Because Stiles knew all about the Hale fire. How Kate had wormed her way in through one of the betas. How she’d waited until they were all home and she’d lined each door and each window with the mountain ash before setting the place ablaze.

And now Stiles was keeping Derek locked in a room with the same methods used to kill his family. Feral or not, that had to be affecting him.

“I have to let him out,” Stiles says after a long second. “I can’t keep him in there like that.”

“Stiles,” Noshiko warns, “if he runs, he’s in danger. We’re attempting to contact Laura Hale but every number we have is a dead end.”

Stiles sighs and rubs his face. “I’ll see if Derek has a phone on him or something, and…look. I get it that he’s in danger, and I won’t needlessly risk his life or anything. But if I can get through to him enough that he gets it, I’m letting him out. I’m not leaving him locked somewhere that he wouldn’t be able to get out of if he was in real danger. It won’t matter if hunters show up here anyway. They’re all human.”

She sighs, but it’s one of acceptance. “Just be careful, okay. Scott’s already been informed and he’s cutting his trip short. We’ve got several members of the Ito pack working with Chris to get these guys out of town. It shouldn’t be long.”

Stiles nods to himself. “Yeah. Okay. Just keep me posted.”

The call ends, and Stiles drags himself out of bed. The little clock on the nightstand says it’s only seven in the morning and he swears the little red numbers are actively mocking him. He has no idea how much sleep he got, but it doesn’t feel like more than a few hours, and he’s pretty damn sure he didn’t enter a single REM cycle.

He wishes hard he can just skip this part and go right for the coffee, but he knows he needs to deal with Derek first. Derek, who is a Hale, and related to Peter which gives Stiles just the faintest bit of anxiety because what if this guy is a total psycho the way Peter was? What if the wolfsbane brought him down to base instincts, but his trauma from the fire made him just as dangerous.

Then again, he didn’t think that his Alpha would send him alone into Scott’s territory if the guy was dangerous. Every pack was well aware that Scott’s didn’t have only wolves, and that it would be monumentally stupid to send someone dangerous to the more vulnerable pack members.

With a deep breath, Stiles walks down the stairs and came to a stop in front of the guest room. Derek is there, curled up on his side in a nest of what was the guest bed duvet. He’s asleep, but the moment Stiles moves, he snaps to attention.

He definitely looks less fangy and hairy, but it was obvious he’s still slightly feral.

“So, your name’s Derek,” Stiles says.

He gives a small whine as he stands up, walking more upright than before, and approaches the door. He lifts one hand, pressing against the barrier, and whines again.

Stiles scrubs a hand down his face. “Listen dude, I want to let you out of here. Now that I know who the hell you are, I sure as shit don’t want to keep you locked up behind mountain ash. But I need to know you’re not going to leave. The hunters out there are dangerous, and if you run off, I can’t promise one of us is going to be driving by to pick your unconscious ass up off the pavement.”

Derek’s head cocks to the side, but Stiles has no idea if the guy understands him at all. Fuck the hunters, and fuck this breed of wolfsbane.

Stiles chews on his lower lip, and briefly considers putting a ring of ash around the house so the guy can go outside, but still can’t leave. He doesn’t think that would be helpful though, if hunters show up and knock Stiles out—something they were stupidly good at. 

“Okay just…” Stiles hesitates and shifts from one foot to the other. He motions for Derek to step back, and when he does, Stiles feels it’s some sort of triumph. He steps over the line, then right into Derek’s space.

When he begins to pat down Derek’s pockets, the feral wolf gives an annoyed growl, but doesn’t try to stop him, or bite him. Stiles finds the phone after a second, tucked into Derek’s back pocket, and is relieved to find it mostly unharmed, and still with a forty percent charge.

When he tries to unlock it, it asks for a thumbprint.

“Well…” Stiles eyes Derek’s hands which are claw-ish, but not fully shifted. He grabs his left hand, and when that does nothing, he tries his right and after a second, the screen unlocks. “Thank fuck. I’m going to try to get ahold of your sister and let her know what the hell is going on. Then…we’ll talk about getting out of here, okay?”

Derek lets out a sort of whuff and flops on the naked mattress, looking both bored and petulant.

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns away, pressing the phone to his ear after finding Laura’s contact in the only handful Derek has saved. He starts to pace, and is profoundly aware of Derek’s blue-glowing eyes on him.

It rings. And rings.

And just before Stiles is sure it’s going to voicemail, a breathless voice picks up. “Derek, thank fucking god, I was starting to freak out and…”

“Yeah hey. Hi. I’m uh…I’m not Derek.”

There’s a moment of tense silence, then a subvocal growl behind the words when she says, “Listen you asshole, if you harm a hair on his head…”

“Woah wait, no,” Stiles says placatingly. “Dude no. I’m part of the McCall pack. My name is Stiles, I’m kind of the unofficial, official emissary. Derek was attacked by some hunters, and he’s safe with me now, but they shot him up with this totally fucked up breed of wolfsbane so he’s kind of all…growly and non-vocal right now.”

“Jesus,” Laura breathes.

“We just got an ID on him tonight, and I got the dart out of his body last night, but it’ll be a few days before it wears off.”

“Okay,” she says, and breathes out. “Okay. Uh. Shit. I’m tied up right now in fucking Canada and I’m not sure when I can get a flight out. I don’t want him suffering alone, and if there are hunters…”

“Hey,” Stiles says, trying to sound as soothing as he can manage, “it’s okay. Seriously, we’re holed up in my dad’s cabin for the week. I have provisions, and the Ito pack is already on patrol. They’re going to run these guys out of town, and I promise I’ll keep your brother safe. He’s… _argh_!” Stiles’ words are cut off with a yelp when there’s a sudden body behind him, and a freaking nose in his neck. “Uh. Is he normally so uh…handsy.”

Laura snorts. “I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Uh.” Stiles swallows thickly as Derek’s nose snuffles up to the back of his ear and then just kind of stays there. He can feel the slight prickle of Derek’s claws at his waist, but not digging in hard enough to break skin. “Okay?”

“Thanks for getting him out of there,” Laura says. “I know that can’t be easy for you. I know what Peter…”

“I know neither of you are Peter,” Stiles says in a rush, and feels Derek immediately tense.

“I just…I know what he put you all through. He came after me too, and Derek and I ran,” Laura says quietly. “The Preserve is part of my amends to Scott, after what Peter did.”

Stiles doesn’t really know what to say, because he wasn’t part of these negotiations. “Look, we’re all good, okay? I mostly just wanted to ask uh…” He shifts and Derek still holds him, but is pliant again, and just resting his face against Stiles’ neck. “So I had him locked in the guest room with mountain ash, to keep him put. I have no idea where the hunters are, but given your history, I feel like using this shit is cruel and unusual punishment. Is there some Alpha-y thing you can say to him to get him to stay in the house? Because I’m not entirely sure he understands me like this.”

Laura chuckles under her breath, then says, “Just put him on and I’ll see what I can do.”

Stiles carefully breaks free of Derek’s grip, then holds the phone out. When Derek just frowns at him with his mostly grown-back brows, Stiles rolls his eyes and holds the phone up to Derek’s ear. He can hear Laura’s mumbling voice, but can’t make out the words. Derek seems to understand, or at the very least is reacting to his Alpha’s voice because his head bows and tilts to the side in slight submission. His eyes eventually close, and then after a moment, he whuffs and her voice goes quiet.

Stiles hesitates, then pulls the phone back. “We good?”

“Yeah. I think so, anyway. This is definitely outside of my area of expertise, but I think he’ll listen to you. Do me a favor and text me with your number, okay? And I’ll let you know when I’ve got a flight out. And please, _please_ call me if anything happens.”

“I will. I promise. I’m sorry about this. I’d like to say that our territory is a lot less batshit than this, but well…”

Laura’s tone is dark when she says, “Unfortunately I remember.”

They hang up shortly after and Derek is still mostly disengaged from Stiles’ person, though he’s very close and still kind of clingy. Stiles uses Derek’s phone to send Laura a text with his number, then he pushes it back into Derek’s pocket, which only jolts the wolf into awareness. Derek steps forward again, leans in, and scents Stiles.

“You’re lucky my alpha isn’t a jealous bastard, Hale,” Stiles grumbles. He lets it carry on for a few minutes, then finally backs up and away from Derek. “Alright dude,” and Derek gives a displeased grumble. “I’m going to disengage that ash line, but you need to stay with me.” He backs up with his eyes on Derek, then kneels down, still looking at the wolf. With a finger, he drags it across the line and he feels the way the barrier just lifts.

A line of tension in Derek’s body that Stiles hadn’t noticed before immediately relaxes. He lets out a shuddering breath, but to his credit, Derek doesn’t run. He does elbow past Stiles, nostrils flaring like he’s exploring the house and taking in the scent, but he doesn’t move toward the door.

Stiles hopes that whatever Laura said to him lasts long enough for him to get his humanity back so Stiles can reason him into staying inside. That, or he hopes the Ito pack just catches the pieces of shit hunters and life can go back to relative normal. Whatever that is.

_ _ _ 

For the most part, it goes fine. Derek gets clingy again after he’s done thoroughly shoving his nose into every crevice of the house. The only good news is that as the hours progress, the wolfsbane seems to be making its way out of Derek’s system. By noon, his claws have completely retracted, and he’s responding to Stiles’ inquiries about food and drink and taking a long damn nap because Stiles is exhausted, with small grunts and even a head nod.

He also eats sort of normal. Stiles makes his famous spaghetti and meatballs and Derek even uses a fork, even if he holds it like a clumsy toddler and gets sauce pretty much everywhere. He eats like he’s been starved too, which is sort of true since god knows when he was shot with the dart, and he certainly hadn’t eaten anything Stiles provided until then.

There’s TV and wifi, and Stiles throws on some cooking show on Netflix and just kind of lays on the couch with Derek curled up on the cushion near his feet. Scott texts a couple of times to let him know he’s been in contact with Laura and things are fine—no pack tension. Kira texts too, letting him know progress of the Ito pack which is to say no progress at all, but they are trying.

Derek doesn’t really seem bothered to be trapped in some cabin with a total stranger of a pack which formed after his family was brutally murdered by his uncle—and that’s not including the fucked up story of Allison and Chris and the entirety of that shit-show. 

Or the whole Stiles being possessed by a demon fox.

Which he really doesn’t like to think about.

No, Derek is unbothered. He just holds his hand over Stiles’ ankle, and occasionally scents him, and at one point gets puppy eyes so intense that Stiles gives up and lets the wolf cuddle him for a late afternoon nap.

Stiles wakes up alone around seven, starving and annoyed with himself for throwing off his sleep pattern so badly. He pads into the kitchen and finds Derek sitting at the table there glowering at his phone like he wants to use it but has no idea how.

“You miss your sister?”

Derek grunts which Stiles takes as a yes.

“Why don’t I call her after we eat, yeah? If it’ll help.”

Derek nods, and Stiles feels like it’s a huge triumph, this push in communication.

Stiles throws together a chicken stir fry like he did the night before, only this time Derek eats with relish, and even does a good job with the fork. When he’s done, he pushes the bowl away, fixes Stiles with a frown like he’s trying to solve all the secrets of the universe, then grunts out, “S’good.”

Stiles almost chokes to death on a piece of half-masticated chicken at the sound of Derek’s voice. It’s surprisingly light, though it’s got that rough wolf-growl to it since he’s not quite there yet. It also draws attention to the whole parts of Derek that are not so animalistic anymore, and freakishly attractive. Like, punch you in the gut attractive. He’s tall, and broad, and he’s got abs for days and little bunny teeth and his eyes which have now faded from electric blue to a sort of Atlantic Ocean blue-green.

Yeah, he’s basically Stiles’ wet dream and it’s so awful because Derek keeps wanting to touch him and it’s stopped feeling like a comfort service he’s providing and now it’s giving him warm, _inappropriate_ feelings in private places.

They retire to the couch again after dinner, and Derek just kind of presses all up against him, and Stiles calls Laura in order to distract from what’s happening.

“Hello?” she says, sounding a little bit panicked.

“Hey. Derek’s starting to come out of feral mode, and I think he’s getting a little alpha-sick,” Stiles says. “He managed a word at dinner which was great, and he sort of indicated he wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she says, and sounds sweet and relieved. “Go ahead and put him on.”

“Here, big guy,” Stiles says, and this time Derek manages the phone by himself this time.

He doesn’t talk, just grunts a hello, then his eyes close as he listens to whatever Laura says. Then, after what feels like just short of forever Stiles hears him say, “S’good. S’fine. Happy.”

Stiles feels warm from his head to his toes though he really can’t let himself think Derek was talking about _him_. But he can’t reason away the way Derek presses closer, throws one arm around his waist. It’s fucking nuts, this entire situation. Derek’s half feral so it’s not like he even knows Stiles, and the guy is a goddamn _Hale_ , and yet it feels just…right and wonderful.

Fuck.

Derek hangs up with Laura without putting Stiles back on, and lets the phone drop to the floor. He puts his face right into Stiles’ neck and huffs in a heavy breath. Stiles closes his eyes and he’s pretty fucking sure he won’t get to _keep_ this, but he will selfishly allow himself to bask while he can.

The moment is wonderful, and endless, and perfect.

And then the doorbell rings.

Stiles jolts up as Derek gives a long, warning growl. But he figures it’s probably Kira because if it was hunters, they’d just burst through the door with light and sonic grenades already blasting. He holds his hand out. “Chill, worry-wolf. It’s probably just someone from Satomi’s pack.”

Derek was at his back as Stiles walked to the door, but hung back far enough for Stiles to open it.

It was most definitely _not_ a member of the Ito pack. 

It also was…not great.

“Heyyyy, James,” Stiles draws out, and tries to edge the door closer, to block Derek from view. He can’t fucking believe he forgot to call him and cancel. “Uh…”

James ignores his hesitation and pushes right in, up against Stiles. He managed to get a hand around his neck and a lip-lock before Derek loses his actual shit. Suddenly James is not kissing Stiles. Suddenly he’s being shoved up against the wall with a clawed hand around his throat, and a mouth full of fang is bared at him. Derek’s eyes are flaring electric blue and he’s growling deep in his chest, and one hand is gripping Stiles’ shirt, holding him back.

It’s a fucking good thing James was already supe-aware.

“Derek!” Stiles says. “Derek, back off. Dude, come on, James is not food, he’s not a threat. He’s a friend, okay?”

“No,” Derek says through gritted fangs. “Not…smell. Right.” It’s grunted out, but clearer than anything Stiles has heard just yet. “Hunter.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I swear he’s not. I swear he’s…”

But then there’s a flash and a noise Stiles can barely hear, but that noise knocks Derek to his knees with his hands over his ears.

Stiles likes to think it’s just natural reflexes and general badassery that has him reacting so fast—and not because he’s been fighting for his life since he was fucking sixteen. All the same, he sweeps a knee, and pulls a pocket knife out, and has James on his belly in a matter of seconds.

“Disarm the sonic, you absolute dick!”

James struggles, but when he realizes he’s overpowered, and had clearly come for sex, not Derek since there’s no back-up, he does what he’s asked. The noise stops and Derek springs to his feet.

“We need to tie him up,” Stiles says. “Up the stairs in my room I’ve got restraints in a black bag. Can you grab them?” He hopes to fuck that Derek can understand that much.

He can, apparently, because he’s gone with preternatural speed.

“So,” Stiles says, shoving his knee right into James’ spine, “hunter? Is that what the fucking was about? To worm your way into Scott’s pack?”

James snorts into the ground and tries to fight back for a second. “It was easy. You were fucking desperate and why not get a few orgasms before I had to work?”

Stiles hits him. He can’t help it. Scott had hated the guy, but gave him the benefit of the doubt for Stiles even though the guy had been a total asshole the whole time Stiles had known him. Which of course he was. He’s a dirty hunter.

Luckily Derek returns before James says anything else, and they get him tied up and shoved into the guest room. Stiles does a cursory search of his person and doesn’t find anything, but he sets Derek to watch him while he goes through his car and calls Satomi at the same time.

When she finally picks up, Stiles has already uncovered a stash of wolfsbane bullets, guns, and a tranq gun with that shitty yellow feral stuff. “Hey,” Stiles says the second she picks up, “I’ve got a hunter here and I don’t know if he’s got GPS on him, so I could have a real problem on my hands soon.”

“Demarco and Brett are already on their way,” she says. “And Lorilee and Carrie have a lead on the hunter base right now. This could be solved by the end of the night. How is our feral wolf?”

“Doing better, using big-boy words. Mostly. Also he’s pretty pissed about the attack.” All true, though Stiles conveniently leaves out the whole inviting James for the weekend, and you know, boning the enemy and what not. Not that it was his fault or anything—he had no idea. Even Scott hadn’t smelled it on him. “He’s guarding him right now.”

“If he’s still partly feral, I should let you get back to him,” Satomi says. “I’m fairly certain they’ll use any excuse to start a war—even if the attack was caused by their own weapon.”

Stiles sighs, collects all the weapons he can find, then heads back into the house. He can hear Derek’s subvocal growling, but he can also hear the muffled voice of James behind the gag which means he’s not dead, and hopefully not maimed. Stiles heads down the hall after depositing everything on the couch, and finds Derek standing in the door, half wolfed out, though he’s pretty sure it’s intimidation, not feral behavior.

“Hey, big guy,” Stiles says.

Derek turns, and his nostrils flare, and he backs up. “Bad.”

Stiles looks down at his hands, then realizes what he means. “Yeah. I found all that nasty wolfsbane shit in his car and I put it on the couch. I don’t want any hunters getting a hold of it. Satomi will destroy it.”

Derek hesitates, then gives a satisfied nod. He doesn’t move when Stiles approaches the door, but when Stiles tries to step in, Derek grabs him and yanks him back.

“Hey woah,” Stiles says, patting his arm gently, “I just want to check to make sure his restraints are tight enough.”

Derek shakes his head. “Tight. Good.”

Stiles glances over and sees a faint blueish tinge to James’ extremities so yeah…he’s probably not going anywhere any time soon. Stiles thinks maybe if he were a better person, he would loosen them up, but he’s not taking any chances on the kind of guy who would use Stiles to get into a pack, and shoot up werewolves with feral juice just to have an excuse to murder them.

“Let’s go wait for Brett and Demarco. They’re good guys.” Stiles reaches down and takes Derek’s hand, and feels a sort of rush at the contact. They stay far away from the couch, and Stiles lets Derek boss him into the chair, and into a tight hold. Derek begins to run his hands along Stiles’ arms, and his nose against Stiles’ neck to scent him. He wonders how long this will last before Derek really comes to and is disgusted with himself for it.

And Stiles feels like the world’s biggest idiot for letting himself fall for the feral guy who won’t want anything to do with him when this is all over.

He is truly a glutton for punishment. 

“I’m sorry for this guy,” Stiles says after a moment, leaning into Derek’s arms. “He’s here because of me. Because I was an idiot. It’s my fault and…”

“S’not,” Derek grumbles, squeezing tight. “Bad. Bad man. Shoot. Hurt you. Want to…hurt you.” It’s clear he’s struggling to make sense, to return to cognizant thought, and Stiles doesn’t want to lose this closeness, but he hurts for the man.

Then something in Derek’s words clicks, and Stiles turns his head to look at him. “Derek…is he the one that shot you?”

Derek stares, then shrugs. “Smell like.”

“Fuck.” Stiles lets his head drop into the crook of Derek’s neck, and Derek all-but purrs at that contact. “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

“No,” Derek says, and Stiles hears the novel of reassurance in that one, simple word.


	3. Chapter 3

\Brett and Demarco arrive eventually, and after securing the location, Brett takes James off, and Demarco stays to destroy the wolfsbane, the weapons, and post guard until they hear from Satomi.

That happens at exactly one thirty-five in the morning when Stiles is pretty much passed out upstairs with Derek octopussed around him. Derek jolts awake first, and Stiles comes to at the movement. He can hear Demarco’s voice speaking quietly, and by the time Stiles drags himself from bed, Demarco is already up the stairs.

He looks particularly wolfy this late at night, his beard extra shaggy, but his eyes are soft and he claps Stiles on the shoulder. “It’s all good man. They got a lead on the guys, and Chris sent in a few people to take it all down. They’re rounding up stragglers so I’d stay in for a day or two, but you can rest easy.”

Stiles figures that Derek’s in enough of his right mind to do a good a job as any protecting himself now that the main threat has been neutralized. He’s fairly sure that he should get Derek back to wherever he was staying before this, though he’s not sure that the still partly feral wolf should be on his own.

“Cool. Thanks man. Sorry to fuck up your weekend.”

Demarco laughs. “Sorry if I was a cock-block.”

Stiles flushes. “Oh my god it’s not like that. I don’t even know this guy. He’s just you know…without his pack and all drugged up and clingy. I mean, aren’t they all like that?”

Demarco’s eyebrows raise. “If that’s what you need to sleep better about this…”

Stiles almost hits him.

“Take it easy, Stiles.”

Then Demarco is gone and Derek is up, bustling Stiles back to the bed.

_ _ _ 

Morning comes and there’s a clarity in Derek’s eyes that wasn’t there the day before.

“You with me, dude?”

Derek blinks at him, looking stupidly soft and kissable. He licks his lips, then tries out with his voice, “Don’t call me dude.” It’s the most complicated sentence Stiles has ever heard from Derek, and it makes him feel a lot better about the situation, but also so much worse.

Especially because after taking a whiff of Stiles, Derek backs up. Way up. He edges to the side of the bed and stays there and it’s just so different from the clingy wolf Stiles has gotten used to.

The space between them feels vast and empty.

“Uh so. Welcome back to the land of coherent. Are you feeling okay? Any lingering…anything?”

Derek scrubs his face with the heel of his palm and groans. “I feel…I don’t know how to describe it. My inhibitions are still pretty low, but not as bad. I feel like I can…control it now. The…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead he pushes up and stretches his back.

Stiles can see every muscle in his body rippling and flexing and Jesus Christ this is so unfair.

“Can I use your shower?”

“You can use anything you want, du—uh. Man. Derek,” he says, flailing a little. “You were the one who got shot and drugged. Thanks to my dickhead hookup, by the way.”

Derek turns and gives him a look Stiles can’t entirely read. Then he stands and moves toward the bathroom, but pauses in the bedroom doorway. “If anyone should take blame for not knowing about that guy, it’s all the wolves in your pack who ignored the smell.”

Then he storms out.

Yeah. So, relations between Hales and McCalls—probably not going to go swimmingly.

_ _ _ 

During Derek’s incredibly long shower which has probably come close to draining half the well, Stiles gets a text from Scott: **My flight gets in tomorrow at 9. Kira is picking me up from the airport, and we can meet with Hale at noon. Can you try to find the most neutral zone so I can try to get ahead of this before it becomes a total shit-show?**

Stiles wants to text back, too late, dude. But instead he just sends a thumbs up and an upside down smiley face to convey that it’s not great, but maybe not the worst. Yet.

Directly after he hits send, his phone lights up with a call and it’s Laura. “Scott told me that he’ll be in by noon tomorrow. My flight gets in around 6 am. I managed the red-eye so I’ll be there. How is my brother?”

“Using full sentences and even showering,” Stiles says, trying to hide the weird rush of disappointment he’s feeling. “I’m going to get him back to his place and his stuff.”

“Can you…” Laura hesitates. “Satomi said that they don’t have them all rounded up yet. I’m not sure I want him alone and I…”

“I can stay with him,” Stiles says in a rush, and feels weirdly triumphant that he’s got the alpha’s permission to stick around longer.

“Thank you,” she says, kind of breathy. “I just…he’s all I have left, you know?”

“I know,” Stiles says quietly. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

“I think I know that now,” she says, and there’s a heaviness to her tone, but he doesn’t ask her about it.

The water shuts off, so Stiles says, “I think he’s done washing up. Do you want to talk to him or…?”

“Nah. I’ll see you guys soon. Just keep me posted, and tell him to text me the address where he’s at. Thanks again. I seriously owe you.”

Stiles knows that anyone else would hoard an alpha favor like it’s a priceless artifact, but he just says, “You really don’t.” Then he kind of panics and says, “Anyway see you soon, bye!”

He hangs up just as Derek walks into the room wearing a low-slung pair of Stiles’ sweats, no shirt, and is scrubbing his hair into a fluff pile with a towel. “Who was that?”

Stiles flushes from head to toe. “Uh. Laura?”

Derek’s eyes briefly flash blue, and Stiles is pretty sure that’s lingering wolfsbane effect.

“She’s got the red-eye so she’ll be here at six. She wants you to text her your address.”

Derek frowns. “I don’t know the address here. You should do it.”

Stiles splutters. “Uh well I thought…I mean you had a place right? I assumed you’d uh…”

Derek pinks from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. “Right. Yeah. I should probably get out of your hair and everything now that I’m…”

“No!” Stiles blurts. He sits up from the mess they’ve made of the bed and he knows he looks like a freak right now, but his panic won’t let hi think clearly. “I mean, I…I assumed after all that you’d want, you know…comfort? Your stuff? Your clothes are all covered in your blood and probably leftover wolfsbane powder. And this is a totally strange place. It has to smell…weird,” he fumbles the last word, and Derek shrugs.

“It smells nice here. And I was just in some hotel which…I’m not sure would make me feel all that great while I’m still recovering. There are too many layers there.”

Stiles gets that. When he and Scott road-tripped the summer between their Freshman and Sophomore yeas of college, they ended up sleeping in the car because Scott couldn’t take the overwhelming smells of people who had come and gone.

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Stiles says, his voice now low and full of purpose. “For as long as you need. As long as you want,” he amends.

Derek’s face goes kind of pink again, then says, “Maybe I should get my stuff though? And am I going to get to talk with Scott?”

Stiles feels a surge of protectiveness over his own alpha for a minute, but Derek just sounds tired and annoyed, not like he wants revenge for anything. “He’ll be back tomorrow. He’ll meet with you and Laura around noon. Also he says he’s really sorry.”

Derek’s face goes a little dark, and his hands curl into fists. “I understand Scott was forced into this, but he should know by now that putting members of his pack in danger like that…”

Stiles scrambles to his feet. “Dude, I am not some feckless human without the ability to protect himself!”

“I’m aware of that,” Derek all-but growls, “but it’s his job to take care of you, and he should have known that guy was…” Derek shakes his head and looks like he’s ready to put his fist through the wall.

Stiles wants to defend Scott’s honor more, but it hits him like a fucking freight train why all of that is hard for Derek. It clicks in a way that only Stiles’ brain can work shit out with almost no information, and a stressful situation. “You. It was you.”

Derek blinks at him.

“Kate wormed her way into your pack, that’s how she had access to everything. It was you she manipulated.”

Derek’s entire face heats flaming red. “I kept it a secret. My mother didn’t know. No one did.”

“God you couldn’t have been more than what, seventeen?” Stiles breathes out.

“Fifteen. But I should have known better and…”

Stiles blinks, then shakes his head. “Woah dude no. Fifteen years old is a kid and she was almost twice that. That’s fucking disgusting. But we knew that about her already.” He gets it though, he really does. “Look, I’m not a kid and I probably could have seen the signs James gave off if I had been looking instead of letting him in like a desperate loser…”

“Stiles,” Derek says, sounding wounded.

Stiles shakes his head. “Seriously, Derek. I’m an almost-thirty year old grown adult who has been running with wolves for half my life. I was the one who brought this on us, so if you want to blame someone, blame me. I was just…” He shrugs, feeling like a pathetic _ass_. “I was lonely.”

Derek clenches his jaw even harder, then he turns and walks out.

And well…that just fucking figures.

_ _ _ 

Stiles is surprised when he finally drags himself into a shower and into clothes, to find Derek waiting in the living room with coffee and toast. He doesn’t say much, just kind of grunts and pushes it over to Stiles. It’s saying something that the coffee looks exactly like the way Stiles normally drinks it.

When he hesitates, Derek fixes him with a pointed glower and Stiles knows that when a wolf goes into, take care of pack member mode, it’s impossible to refuse. So he drinks his damn, perfect, stupid coffee and eats the toast. Then he lets himself be hustled out the door and to the car.

“I’m at the Beacon Inn over off the Five,” Derek says, his voice still using that sub-vocal grumble which Stiles knows means he’s not entirely himself.

He wants to say more, but he’s too afraid to take advantage of a situation where Derek’s control could slip at any time. So he just puts the Jeep into drive, and makes the thirty minute trek across town.

Derek has the hotel key in his pocket, and he stares at Stiles through the window of the Jeep until Stiles gets out and follows him up rickety stairs to the end of the walkway. When Derek opens the door, Stiles cringes and doesn’t even need wolf senses to know this place is kind of nasty.

“It was the only place with vacancy, and I wasn’t planning on spending that much time here,” Derek says, a little defensive as he gathers up his things.

It’s telling that he leaves the key on the nightstand. It means he’s not coming back, though Stiles doesn’t know if he should interpret that as Derek’s returning with Laura when this whole mess is over. Or…if it means something else.

They get in the car, and Stiles eyes his favorite burger joint as they approach, and Derek finally sighs. “You’ve probably earned curly fries by now.”

Stiles blinks in surprise. “Dude…how…”

“Your car reeks of them. I’m not psychic,” Derek replies.

Stiles is grateful for the drive-thru, and for the fact that Derek orders two burgers, extra large curly fries, and a side of cheese to dip them in so he doesn’t feel like a total junk-food loser. They take it all back to the cabin and he vows never to tell his dad about any of this.

The food is kind of lukewarm by the time they settle on the couch, but Derek is still sitting close enough to touch, their thighs pressed, his scent getting all over, so Stiles finds he doesn’t mind at all.

They go back to their cooking show.

Derek throws the trash away, then comes right back into Stiles’ space.

They don’t talk a lot.

But it’s not really needed.

Derek bullies them into bed by ten since Laura is getting in early. He sets his phone alarm and just gives Stiles a pointed look as he holds the blankets up for the other man to crawl under.

Stiles does, but he feels weird about it. “Maybe uh…I should take the couch until you’re fully yourself.”

There’s a long, tense pause, and in the dark Stiles can see a brief flash of blue before Derek finally says, “Stiles, I am myself. I’ve been myself since this afternoon.” Then his hand settles on Stiles’ waist and just rests there.

And oh. _Oh_.

“So what…”

“Later,” Derek says. He bosses Stiles around until Derek’s the big spoon, and his nose is right up against the shorn back of Stiles’ hair. He breathes in, then out, a rush of hot air against his neck, and in spite of the situation being so far out of anything Stiles has ever been through, he still manages to fall asleep immediately.

_ _ _ 

The alarm is the fucking devil. Stiles wants to smash it, then smash other things when the warmth of Derek disappears. But Stiles drags himself out of bed, and he smells coffee as he’s getting dressed. Derek has managed to scrounge up to not-quite-manky looking travel mugs Stiles is pretty sure his dad uses for fishing, and he takes a grateful sip as they head out the door.

It’s chilly in spite of summer, but Stiles doesn’t mind. It distracts him from sleep-rumpled Derek that he wants to pin to the side of his Jeep and kiss until neither of them can breathe. He drinks his coffee instead.

They make it to the little, shitty, Beacon International Airport that really only has enough room on the runway for like puddle jumpers and private jets. Laura is already waiting, looking like Derek—unfairly beautiful with long dark hair and a terrifying grin. 

She throws her suitcase into the back of the Jeep and climbs in and then reaches between the seats to run her hand along Derek’s neck. Derek grumbles and leans into it, and looks more relaxed than Stiles has seen him.

Her hand twitches like she wants to reach for him too, but she knows that Scott’s base instincts will not appreciate him being scented by another Alpha, even if his conscious mind doesn’t quite get it.

They drive off, and the drive is silent for a long time.

“Where the fuck is your rental?” Laura finally asks.

Derek shrugs, looks sheepish and very much like a younger brother. “Uh. I left it at the hotel.”

“Jesus, you are a disaster. Where are you staying. Please tell me you got a house and not some fleabag motel off the side of the road.”

“Uh,” Derek says.

“You’re staying with me,” Stiles interjects. “It was just easier. We’ll head there, and then I have to find a neutral space for you to meet up with Scott.”

Laura frowns, which Stiles can see in his mirror. “Why not your place?”

Stiles seems startled by that. “I didn’t think…I mean. I’m pack, you know? So I’m not neutral.”

Laura gives Derek a very pointed look that neither of the men miss, and she says, “Yeah you are.”

And well…he guesses that settles it.

Scott doesn’t even question the text when Stiles sends it. He just says, **Kay** with an actual fucking smiley face.

_ _ _ 

The meeting goes…

Well, it goes.

Stiles isn’t part of it. Scott has Satomi, Kira, and Noshiko with him as they negotiate territory and reparations which now include Derek’s whole brush with the hunters. Stiles wants to burst in and take responsibility for the James fiasco, but it turned out he was small fish in the big, crazy-hunter pond, so in the grand scheme of things, he didn’t really matter.

Instead, Stiles paces outside and tries to distract himself as the minutes tick by.

It feels like an eternity before it’s all over, but soon enough the meeting is broken, and Noshiko is offering to cook, and Laura and Kira are talking happily and Satomi is having a cup of coffee at the counter.

And Derek…

Derek is nowhere to be found. Stiles shuffles his feet a little and tries not to look like a lost puppy. He must fail at it because Laura loops her arm through his and drags him back outside.

“Walk with me.” It’s not a request.

Not that Stiles would have turned her down. The few hours he spent with her that morning were pleasant, and any lingering frustration or resentment he felt about the Hales was all-but gone. He enjoyed her company, and he felt kind of a pang of loss when he realized they would be leaving soon.

“I wanted to say thanks again, for looking out for Derek.” Her voice is soft, quiet in the thick of the woods. The canopy leaves a cool shade over them as they walk down a long-familiar path Stiles had used to play on as a kid. “He doesn’t let a lot of people get close to him.”

“I don’t really think he had a lot of choice in the matter. He was feral and I was a non-threat.”

Laura cocks her head to the side. “That idiot didn’t say anything to you, did he?”

Stiles frowns. “Uh. About…?”

“You’re more than a non-threat, Stiles. The only difference is that he was able to recognize it easier because he was uninhibited and wasn’t able to second guess himself. But his wolf recognized you.”

Stiles blinks at her. “Recognized me? As what?”

“As his. As a mate,” Laura says. “It’s nothing so…romance novel as soulmates or anything like that. This isn’t some fuck-or-die situation. If you’re not into it, then…”

“I’m into it,” Stiles blurts, then flushes hard and ignores her snicker. “Uh. I mean okay I should probably get to know him as like…as a person. But whatever’s there, I felt it. And I’ve been around supernatural shit long enough not to discount something like that.”

She gives him a long look out of the side of her eye, then shrugs and sighs. “Scott wants to share territory. Nothing is solidified of course, he’ll need to bring it up with your pack and as emissary we’ll eventually deal with you in an official capacity. But…”

“Is that like…allowed though? If I’m emissary of Scott’s pack, but you’re Derek’s alpha…”

She snorts. “This isn’t medieval times, Stiles. This isn’t some feudal war between kingdoms. I’m Derek’s sister, and I’m his alpha, and we’ll always be pack. My baby sister lives in Costa Rica and her boyfriend is a werejaguar and she lives in their village. Has been for the last ten years. But I’m still her sister, and her alpha.”

“So what does sharing mean?” Stiles asks. “I mean, we all got thrown into this, and I’ve learned a lot, but not enough to really even pretend like I know what the hell I’m doing.”

Laura smiles as she stops, and she circles her fingers around Stiles’ wrist and squeezes gently. “You’re doing better than I did when everything fell on my shoulders. I was a nineteen year old college student with a traumatized brother and dead family. I just…bailed, and let everything to go shit. And I know I let you all down, and I want to make up for that. Scott doesn’t want me to relinquish Hale territory. He doesn’t necessarily want me to be here, but he wants to know that if he ever decides to leave, the place is still ours.”

“It seems wrong to let generations go just because of one crazy bitch. Giving it all away feels like maybe…letting her win? Even from beyond the grave.” Stiles hopes what he’s saying isn’t awful, but Laura doesn’t seem offended.

“That’s why Scott chose you, and why if anyone was going to be a mate match for my brother, I can rest easy knowing it’s someone like you. Derek doesn’t have a lot in New York. He finished school, he’s got a job that he can work anywhere. He says he’s fine, but I can tell he’s looking for roots, and being able to start writing over the pain of his past here…I think that’ll be better for him than any distance ever could be.”

“I think…I should probably talk to him, though,” Stiles says.

Laura laughs, this time a full-bodied one and she slings her arm around Stiles and pulls him closer. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

_ _ _ 

Stiles finds Derek in the master bedroom, which feels a little bit like _theirs_ now, even if it’s only been a couple days. He can’t shake the feeling like his entire universe has been re-written as he steps into the privacy of the room. Though he knows that even with the door shut, they’re not free from werewolf ears, it feels private and personal.

Derek’s sitting at the edge of the bed, watching Stiles with caution in his gaze. Stiles hesitates, leaning back against the cool wood, and he fidgets a little, not quite sure what to do with his hands. “So uh…how are you?”

Derek lifts an eyebrow, then snorts a little. “I’m fine, Stiles. I still feel a little like…my inhibitions are lowered. Like my wolf is closer to the shift than normal, but I’m in full control of myself.”

Stiles nods, then pushes away from the door and all-but marches over. He doesn’t slow his speed so Derek does the only thing he can do, and he opens his entire body to Stiles, and takes him easily in an embrace. “Laura told me. She told me about uh…the mates thing?”

Derek groans and buries his face in Stiles’ neck. “That’s…it’s not…I mean….”

“I know. She said it’s just a connection. Humans have them all the time. But I like the feeling, and I don’t really know you that well, but what I do know, I like. A lot. And frankly _you’re_ the one losing out on this deal. I’m a hot mess.”

Derek eases them both down onto the bed, facing each other, and he uses the tips of his fingers to trace over Stiles’ jawline. “You’re not.”

“I was once paralyzed by a kanima with my pants down. I lost my virginity in the Eichenhouse basement while I was possessed by an evil Fox Demon. One time I ate at a food truck that Scott told me smelled like death, just to spite him, and I puked on my lit professor’s feet. In the middle of my midterm. I regularly survive on old packets of ramen and curly fries even though I make a decent salary, and I don’t think I’ve ever cleaned under my bed.” Stiles takes a breath, then says, “I still have every Backstreet Boys album downloaded on my iPhone.”

At that last admission, Derek throws his head back and laughs, clutching Stiles tight. He lurches forward and buries his face in Stiles neck, and gives him a little bit of beard burn as he scents him. “I was an N’Sync guy myself. I had the hots for Lance.”

Stiles shakes his head as he turns and can’t help but press his lips against Derek’s temple. “Well, you would’ve had a shot there. If you’d ever met him.”

Derek hums, but doesn’t say anything. He lifts his nose, but replaces it with warm lips which press sucking, wet kisses to the warm expanse of Stiles’ skin.

“Laura says your job,” Stiles says through a slight gasp, “she says your job can travel. So uh…if you don’t need to rush back…”

Derek pulls back, then takes Stiles’ face between his hands and angles him _just so_. He leans in so their lips are brushing, and he says in a low voice, “I don’t have to rush back,” before he finally, _finally_ kisses him.

Stiles moans into it, opens his lips, lets Derek’s hot tongue push into his mouth and press against his own, and taste him. He presses his erection—hot and heavy and aching—against Derek’s thigh and grinds down. He takes extreme pleasure in feeling Derek’s own body respond, in Derek pushing closer, his hands—nails just a little bit sharp—grappling at the back of his shirt.

“We have time,” Stiles says. “For all the good shit. For dates and…and for this. More of this. So fucking much more of this.”

“Yes,” Derek says, then he angles Stiles so their hips are hitting each other _just right_ with every thrust and it only takes a moment before they’re coming in their pants like a couple of horny teenagers.

“I’d be way more embarrassed if you hadn’t just come too,” Stiles manages through hitched breath.

Derek laughs, and his hands—careful and strong—gently remove what’s left of their clothes. He bosses Stiles under the blankets in a way Stiles has really, really come to love, and then hot hands start to roam and explore _all_ of Stiles’ body.

“Uh. Maybe we should wait until prying ears and noses are gone…” Stiles starts.

“They’re gone,” Derek mumbles as he’s tasting along Stiles’ collarbone. “They left the second I kissed you.”

Stiles wants to argue about going slow, taking their time, maybe learning a favorite color or song. But then Derek mouths _right there_ and his eyes roll back in his head, and Stiles decides that all that other shit can come much much later, after he’s had a few good orgasms.

_ _ _ 

That much much later starts later that night when Uber Eats has dropped off Thai, Greek, and Mexican. They’re in t-shirts and clean boxers, sitting in the middle of the bed and Stiles’ face hurts from laughing, and Derek’s eyes are soft and sweet and he doesn’t really take them off Stiles for even a second.

Stiles’ belly is full of pita and hummus and noodles and his favorite queso, and he’s resting his cheek against Derek’s ribs, listening to the steady, comforting thump of his heart. “I won’t always be this easy, will it?” he asks.

Derek’s fingers brush through his hair. “Probably not, no. But I think it’ll be worth it.”

Stiles turns and kisses him under his chin, then goes up onto all fours and kisses his way up until their mouths nuzzle together in smudging pecks. “Yeah. It already feels like that.” He breathes in deep, then settles into the cradle of Derek’s arms and basks in the scent of them both which is strong enough with his human nose, and must be overwhelming to the wolf. “What now? I mean…what are you going to do now?”

Derek hums softly as he drags his blunt fingernails up and down Stiles’ back. “Laura wants to rebuild the house. We had the county tear the ruins down a few years ago, and before, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to put anything there again.”

“Salt the earth?” Stiles offers.

Derek huffs a quiet laugh. “Something like that. I didn’t think there was anything here for me. It’s why I volunteered to come and talk with Scott. I was trying to prove to her—and to myself—that there was nothing waiting for us. But I was wrong.”

“Yeah, a wolfsbane dart in the ass and a hyper shithead who you got stuck with as a mate.”

Derek growls, and flips them, pinning Stiles to the bed and he presses a series of biting kisses along his jaw. “I was shot in the _arm_ , you ass,” Derek says, and bites his shoulder lightly. “And I wasn’t stuck with a hyper shithead. I was gifted with one.”

“God, that’s disgusting and romantic and the worst thing anyone has ever said to me,” Stiles gasps. He yanks at Derek’s shoulders. “Get down and kiss me like you want me, then fuck me, then let’s go to sleep so we can do it all again tomorrow.”

Derek grins wolfishly, and then he complies.

He definitely does it the next day.

And the day after that.

Maybe not every day forever…

But in the end, it’s pretty damn close.


End file.
